


Loki's First Child

by delusionalbookworm



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Babies, Blood and Gore, Forced Pregnancy, Fucked Up, Gen, Giving Birth, I'm Sorry, Magic, Magical Pregnancy, Mythology - Freeform, Pain, Shapeshifter Loki, Shapeshifting, Suicidal Thoughts, Teen Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 05:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7789339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delusionalbookworm/pseuds/delusionalbookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything that had happened to him, after the horrific pain he had endured, Loki had been unable to transform back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Loki was young, no longer a child, but not quite yet a man, there was a terrible war between the Aesir and the Vanir. Many warriors, from both sides, fell during this war, but eventually, peace was found. A treaty was formed, and the warriors that still lived returned to their homes and their families.

As the dust of the battlefield settled, the Aesir realised that the great wall that once surrounded their realm had been destroyed in the fighting. King Odin, the Allfather, feared that they were now vulnerable to attack from the Jotunns, and so appealed for craftsmen to come forth and rebuild the wall. The only craftsman in the entire realm who could take on such a task was a stonemason, named Blast. He agreed to rebuild the wall, but he asked for the sun and moon as payment. Outraged by his audacity, the Aesir refused his terms, but both parties knew that Asgard could not go undefended forever.

Young Loki saw his parents trapped in negotiations that were going nowhere, and he proposed a way out. A deal. A bet, of sorts. If Blast finished the work within six months, he would be paid in full. However, if he didn’t finish in time, he would not be paid at all. Blast agreed, knowing he would be able to finish in time. Because while no Aesir could work that fast, he would not be the one doing the work. It would be his horse, the strongest and mightiest in all the land – the horse known as Svalidfari.


	2. Chapter 2

Five months passed, and it became clear that the wall was going to be completed in time. When that happened, Asgard was going to lose its sun and moon. Loki was desperate. He realised if he could get rid of the horse, Blast would be unable to finish the work, but he had no idea how to do that.

He tried to lure the damn thing away with food, but the horse’s desire to eat was weaker than its desire to not be whipped by its master upon its return. So, Loki thought, what would the horse desire above all else? A mate, surely. He had seen better trained stallions than Svalidfari throw their riders off into the dirt, when they caught wind of the sweet scent of a mare in heat. He tried to hire a mare, but no one would trade with him. Everyone in Asgard knew of his trickery and they didn’t want to find that they had become the butt of a joke, or had been complicit in helping Loki fool someone else.

He was running out of options and he didn’t know where to turn. Odin was so furious with him for making this deal in the first place, he had refused to help, and Thor and his friends were too scared of evoking Odin’s wrath to aid him. Scared, and backed into a corner, Loki had done the only thing he could think to do. He had transformed himself into a filly, and had attracted the horse himself. And then he ran.

He wasn’t sure how far would be far enough, but he needed to make sure the horse wouldn’t be found before the deal ended. Leaves and branches trampled underfoot as he raced through the forest, heading away from the city, and deeper and deeper into uncharted wilderness. He kept going, only ever stopping to make sure Svalidfari was still following him. The night drew in, and then faded, and drew in again. Loki was so tired he could barely keep moving. Finally, he felt he was far away enough to stop; that the horse was so utterly lost he wouldn’t be found for weeks.

He tried to turn back into his usual Aesir form, but he’d worn himself out running. He looked over his shoulder, and charging through the underbrush, still showing no signs of slowing, was Svalidfari. He could smell the passion, the desire coming off of the other horse, and it instilled in him a more chilling terror than he had ever felt before. For the first time the full extent of what his plan meant slammed into him. The horse wasn’t chasing him so that it could neigh and brush its muzzle against his. It wanted to… _Oh, gods._

Scrambling to his feet, he desperately tried to keep moving, tried to force himself to keep going, but it was no good. Physically, he was smaller and much weaker than the other horse. He wasn’t going to be able to outrun it, and he was bound to tire out first. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. Panting and wheezing, he tried to kick out at Svalidfari as it grew nearer, but he couldn’t scare the other horse away.

Eventually, the other horse caught him. Eventually, it mounted him, and treated him as it would any other filly. Eventually, it finished with him, and left. And eventually, Loki stopped screaming.


	3. Chapter 3

After everything that had happened to him, after the horrific pain he had endured, Loki had been unable to transform back.

He was still exhausted, he had not slept or eaten, and his whole body was in pain. He couldn’t do the spell on his own. He would have to make his way back to the palace before he could be himself again. He made the journey back much slower than he had made the journey there. He was weaker, and more cautious. He no longer had the knowledge that if he came across any danger, he could transform into a bird and fly away. As he was, he had no protection, and no way of knowing if he were about to be struck down by the arrow of an Aesir hunter, or the teeth and claws of a Bilgesnipe.

He was scared, on edge, and desperately trying not to think about what had happened to him. Every time he did, the memories threatened to overwhelm him. When that happened, he broke down. He sobbed, and screamed and wished he had human hands so he could hold himself, wash himself, get rid of the traces of the other horse he could _still feel inside him_. But there was no way to deal with the pain he felt. All he could do was walk. And after a week, he made it home.

But all the time he’d been walking, he had not once thought about what would happen when he arrived. He’d forgotten that - as if the torment he had suffered at the hands of the gods was not great enough already- when he was in his animal forms, he could not speak. He understood himself perfectly, but whenever he opened his mouth, all anyone else could hear were neighs and whinnies. A pair of royal guards saw him approaching the city, and called for someone to take him to the stables. The stables, would, of course, be filled with more horses. More stallions that would inhale his scent and be driven mad trying to… He wasn’t going to go through that again. Never again. Loki ran.

He knew that he needed to find his mother. Not only was she was the finest sorceress in the land, but she also always knew him when she saw him. She had told him many times, that from the moment she laid eyes on him, she had known he was a shapeshifter. Over the years she had learned to sense his energy, so that no matter what form he took, she could always tell when it was him. Only she would be able to release him from this hideous curse. But he also knew that there would be no way for him to reach her. She mostly remained on the palace grounds, and when she ventured out into the city, she always had guards with her. He would never be able to get close to her without someone seeing him and asking where he came from, and ordering him to be caught and taken away. So, he ventured back into the forest.

He despaired. Would he be trapped like this for the rest of his life? He hoped that perhaps, Thor would go out on a hunting party, and that he might recognise Loki, but of course that was hopeless. Thor had about as much magical knowledge or ability as a toenail clipping, and his friend Volstagg would as soon see Loki as he would shoot him, and roast him over a fire for dinner.


	4. Chapter 4

Days became weeks, and weeks became months, and eventually, Loki realised why he had been unable to transform back. He felt nauseous, and faint, and at first, he feared that he was falling ill. Out in the wilderness on his own, there would be no one to heal him. Then his stomach began to swell, and he feared it was a much more serious illness than he had once thought. Had he eaten something poisonous? Had something bitten him, sending deadly venom coursing through his veins? If he died, no one would know. No one would be able to tell his family. His body would never be retrieved, never be fixed. He would be left out here – his corpse would make a happy home for flies, he would become a feast for rats and crows alike. More sickening than that, his soul would never pass through the golden gates of Valhalla; instead he would be cursed with an eternity in Niflheim. And then. Then he knew that he was not sick, that there was something far, far worse wrong with him. Because he felt the creature growing inside him _move._

If he had had hands, he would have taken a knife to his stomach and torn the disgusting beast out of him before it could grow any further. But, stuck in this form, he was forced to carry the foul child to term. As the weeks went on, it got bigger, it moved more, and he could feel it inside him constantly. Not a minute went by that he wasn’t forced to think about the alien that had taken up residence inside him. The pregnancy was long, and painful, and he could feel the creature inside him sapping him of all his energy. Everything became a struggle, and more than ever, he wished for companionship, for comfort, for his mother.

When he felt the day drawing nearer, he set out to go back to Asgard. Stallions wouldn’t go near him if he was on the verge of giving birth, and there would be someone - some kindly farmer, or stable hand - who would coax him through this. But it all came on quicker than he’d thought. He’d thought it would be a week away, it turned out to be less than a day. It all happened in the small hours of the night, when he was awoken by a tight pain across his swollen stomach. At first he was scared something was going wrong, but when it happened a second time, he realised it was a contraction. He laughed bitterly as he realised he was going into labour less than a day’s walk away from help, but even that was too far for him by this point. It was too late to do anything about it. He was going through this alone.

The birth was upon him, and all he could do was grunt, and groan, and pray for it to be over soon. Too weak to stand, he lay down, and wave after wave of pain began to wash over him. Not long after it started, he felt hooves, pushing their way out of him. His already swollen sex felt like it was being stretched far beyond what it could reasonably take, and this was only just beginning. Loki howled in agony, then fruitlessly tried to quieten himself; scared he would be discovered, in far too much pain to stop.

Then the head, pushing its way through him, feeling like it was going to tear him to shreds. The pain was beyond comprehension now, all he could do was scream. He had seen this happen before, and the horses had all seemed so well put together, like they were barely breaking a sweat. Why did this hurt so much??? Maybe he hadn’t transformed into a perfect copy of a horse. He had never fixated on a mare’s genitalia, after all. Maybe he’d shaped it wrong, maybe he was too small, too young. His body couldn’t take it - that was all that he knew with any certainty.

Then – something was wrong. He felt something pushing against him that he couldn’t possibly explain. A second set of front legs? Impossible. _Horses didn’t give birth to twins, did they?!_ No, and even if they did, they wouldn’t both come out at once. _Then what was that?_ What was that pushing its way out of him? Destroying him on its way out?! The pain paralysed him; blinded him. He felt a hot wetness gushing between his legs, and he could not bear to even turn and see what was happening. His nostrils flared, and a metallic smell hit his nose, strong enough to make his head spin. He was bleeding. Badly.

He tried to get to his feet, but his spindly legs kicked uselessly, not managing to move his over-swollen body. He felt like a beetle that had gotten stuck on its back. Another horrific spike of pain shot through him, as more of this malformed child forced its way out. He could feel it struggling as it began to panic, kicking out with as many legs as it could. Some of those legs were still inside him. Fire spread across his belly and he felt like his gut was going to burst out of him. And then it did. Finally, _finally_ , his mind succumbed to the pain, sinking into darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

He drifted in and out of consciousness over the next few hours, remaining awake only for minutes at a time, before the pain grew so great it dragged him under again. Eventually, it was over. The creature was out of him, the umbilical cord was gone, and when he awoke again, he was in his true form. Too exhausted to move, too scared to examine himself, he wasn’t sure how the damage would translate to his Aesir body, but the pain he felt assured him it was not gone. Before he passed out again, he managed to teleport both himself and the thing he had just birthed home. He felt a cool tile floor underneath him, and, though his vision was blurred, he saw the gaudy and decadent gold furnishings found only in an Asgardian palace.

“Mother! Father! Thor!” He cried weakly, no louder than a whimper, his voice worn out from the screaming. He was unable to go find help, to crawl, to even push himself up off of the floor. He was home. But had he returned soon enough? Too tired to go on, he sunk back into the darkness.

~~~~

The next time he awoke, he did not open his eyes. He was lying in a feather-stuffed bed in one of the healing huts, wrapped in blankets and propped up by a veritable mountain of pillows. He could feel the crackle of the healer’s magic in the air. He had been here many times throughout his young life; it was almost as comforting a setting as his old schoolroom. He thought of nothing at all, bar how comfortable he was. He was warm, safe, and tempted to nestle further into the blankets and simply go back to sleep. But his blissful happiness did not last long. His memories soon came flooding back. He remembered being on the verge of death, he remembered being in such agonising pain that he had stopped fighting it. He remembered wishing that death would come. He remembered the child. His eyes shot open, and he sat upright, causing a shooting pain to spread across his gut. He looked up, and saw his mother sat at his bedside. She held a book, but she was not reading it. Her head was bowed, and quietly, she wept.  

“Mother.” He croaked, reaching out to her. Quickly brushing away her tears, Frigga embraced her son.

“Oh, Loki, my Loki. You were missing for so long, we all feared you were dead. We had no idea where you had gone. And then, you appeared out of nowhere, and there was so much blood, and you...” She trailed off, not willing to describe the horrific state Loki had been found in – half gutted, looking like he had been ripped apart by wild bores. His genitals had also been mutilated, though none of them knew how such a thing could have happened.

Loki pushed her away, and threw the blankets off of himself. He had to know what had happened to him. What he looked like. But underneath his nightshirt, everything was wrapped in crisp white bandages. He tried to tug them away, but Frigga caught his hands.

“Don’t. Every part of you has been restored to the best of the healer’s abilities. They say, when you have been returned to your full health, they can work on taking away some of the scars. But right now, they are focused on helping you with your pain.” She assured him, struggling to keep her emotions in check as she tended to her son. He saw her faltering, heard her voice shake, and his own resolve crumbled under the weight of the horrors of the past eleven months. He began to sob, and Frigga wordlessly climbed into bed next to him. She wrapped her son in her arms and held him tight as he wept. She stroked his hair, and gently spoke of tiny, unimportant things, so he could simply listen to the sound of her voice. Eventually his breathing slowed, and his tears stopped, and he fell back to sleep in her arms. As Frigga eased herself out of his bed, and crept away, she used her magic to ensure his sleep would be dreamless.


	6. Chapter 6

Over the following days, the healers did not let him leave the hut, and his injuries made walking painful and difficult, so most of his time was spent in bed. His family ensured that he was never lonely – mostly his company was kept by his mother, or Thor, but on rare occasions, his father managed to make some time for him. Loki looked forwards to those visits most of all, when he, and only he, had his father’s attention. It was during one of them that he learned what had become of the creature he had birthed.

“Loki, what happened? How did you come to be so injured? Who, or what, did this to you?” Odin asked, not for the first time. Something had harmed his son beyond all imaginings, and he desperately wanted to find that something, and tear it limb from limb. He wanted to ease his sons suffering, and, being unable to do that, he wanted to right the wrongs that had been done to him. But Loki couldn’t tell him.

He had tried, many times, to tell his parents what had happened. But when he tried, his so-called silver tongue turned to lead. His mouth opened and closed, trying to form words, but failing. He simply couldn’t speak aloud the horrific events of the forest. His mother and father saw him struggling, and let the subject be dropped. When he was ready, he would tell them, or at least, so they hoped. Odin saw such struggling now, and instead, changed his question.

“At least, can you tell me where the foal came from? I’ve never seen such a creature before.” Odin asked, lightly. Loki shook his head, and shakily took a breath.

“What... what happened to it?” He asked, after a long pause. He was hoping to hear that the thing was already dead, that it had not survived the birthing, but it refused to give him even that. Odin told him that it was being kept in the stables. Perversely, as Loki was lying in a bed, barely able to move, the thing was in good health. Odin told him one more thing he didn’t know. The creature was a boy.

~~~~

The first opportunity he got to sneak away was later that night. He poured the sleeping draught that was prepared for him each night away, and pretended to sleep until the healers left. Once they were all gone, he teleported over to the stables, dagger in hand. Under normal circumstances, he would have concocted some sort of poison or potion, but this couldn’t wait until he was considered well enough to return to his own quarters. That, and it wasn’t enough just to know the creature was dead. He had to feel it, with his own hands. He had to end this; end the nightmare he had been living through.

Tiptoeing across the straw-coated floor in the darkness, he wasn’t sure how he would know which was his. He had never seen the thing before. But something in him tugged him, leading him to the right stall. The foal was sleeping on a bed of straw, its legs curled up underneath its body, when Loki got his first look at it. The first thing he saw was that its fur was light grey, the colour of ash the day after a campfire. He edged closer, now clasping the dagger tightly with both hands. The foal's ears drooped, one sagging over a closed eye, and Loki’s heart gave a flutter. It looked so small, so frail. He realised he had never seen a foal without its mother before, and he knew why. This creature, this baby - his baby, something inside him said- it needed protection. It needed love. It needed him. Loki wondered, would it survive without him? Odin had told him that though the foal was in good health, the other horses weren’t going near it. This little thing had nothing in the world, except him.

Random, tiny details caught Loki’s eye. The way its - no, not it's. His. The way  _his_ eyelashes curled. His nostrils flaring slightly as he let out a little “huff” in his sleep. Loki put the knife down, and hesitantly stepped closer to the foal on the ground in front of him. The foal stretched, and rolled onto his side. Loki noticed, and calmly acknowledged the fact, that this foal had twice the number of legs that he was expecting. Four front legs, and four hind legs. Eight in total. In a strangely detached, analytical way, he realised that that was why he had so much trouble with the birth. He realised then, that that didn’t matter to him. For some reason, he was more fixated on the fact that each of those eight legs had little white socks that ran half way up the calf.

He didn’t know whether it was hormones, or maternal instinct, or as a result of his own reasoning, but the hatred that had burnt so fiercely throughout the pregnancy had disappeared upon seeing his baby. Quietly sobbing, though he wouldn’t have been able to explain why, he knelt next to his babies head, and ran his fingers through the thick black hair of his mane. In his sleep, the horse wriggled closer to him, pushing his head onto Loki’s lap. Loki stayed like that for hours, before curling up in the hay next to his baby. _This is mine_ , he thought as he drifted off to sleep. _If nothing else, this is mine_.


End file.
